


The Kick-In

by Missy



Category: Army of Darkness (1992), Evil Dead (Movies), Evil Dead - All Media Types
Genre: Adventure, Community: horrorbigbang, F/M, Historical, Horror, Romance, Time Travel, Weddings: Interrupted, Zombies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-11-03
Updated: 2010-11-03
Packaged: 2017-10-13 01:24:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,975
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/131275
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Missy/pseuds/Missy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The further adventures of Ashley J. Williams, in which he becomes a bridegroom, travels through time (again) and discovers he might be the originator of the Necronomicon.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Kick-In

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the HorrorBigBang '10! This fic has seen me through many, many travails, and it's sort of hard to let it go. Much love to gypsyjr for being my first reader, and to villiagegreen for her gorgeous [art](http://rise-your-dead.livejournal.com/140203.html) and [wtfbrain](http://rise-your-dead.livejournal.com/139934.html#cutid1) for her fanmix!

_My name is Ash and I'm wearing pink._

 _Yeah, go on, yuck it up on me. I didn't exactly have a choice. It was all her idea…_

 _'Her' name is Miss Robin Lively – head of pet care at my S-Mart, first in her class at Mich U, and one hell of a looker._

 _And I'm marrying her in ten minutes._

 _'Woah,' I hear you saying, 'back up.' That's right, ol' Ash is tying the knot. And if you could see Robin, you wouldn't be asking me why. She's good to me, great in the sack and doesn't give a shit about my night terrors._

 _The best part is, she didn't freak out when I told her about the whole Promised One thing._

 _You know that part of the story. It's a real heartwarmer. Boy falls in love with highschool sweetheart, takes her out on a vacation to meet his sister in Tennessee, boy thinks renting a cabin for the weekend is a swell idea, best friend and his girlfriend hear about this and decide to tag along. Boy has shitty enough luck to get picked by a bunch of old British farts to defend world from demons and has to rip his friends and lovers into pieces to save himself, then gets forced to travel back through time to lead an army against his evil self, who wants to take out cause mayhem and rule the world. Big yawn._

 _Didn't even mention the cutting-off-my-hand part._

 _Boy got home, finally. Fell in love with a pretty girl. And sure, she talks down to him sometimes and is bossy as all hell, but she also treats him like he's made out of gold. So boy sucks it up and buys her a ring. And they all lived happily ever after, right?_

 _Ever get that sinking feeling that shit's about to start piling up again?_

 _Yeah. It's gonna get deeper pretty damn soon._

 _Bet on it._

***

Ash glared at the image in the mirror. No two ways about it – that was one hell of a pink dinner jacket he was wearing.

Briskly, he shook his head to clear his mind. No, he wasn't about to let himself go back there again. He'd made the right choice in proposing to Robin, and he was going through with the marriage.

No matter how pink the ceremony was.

Ash tried to be reasonable about the situation. Everything Robin Lively knew about marriage she seemed to have gleaned either from her very Donna Reed-esque mother or from midnight showings of Steel Magnolias. The marriage had been color-coordinated within an inch of its existence, everything a shade of pink from magenta to pastel, a groom's cake sculpted to look like a Delta '88 and a never ending supply of pink roses. All paid for by the bride's father, a fact that had been held over Ash's head by the man from the day she had said 'yes.'

"Lookit you," the face in the mirror sneered. "Starin' at us like you lost your mind."

Alarm raced through Ash's mind. "Not you, not today…" he growled, squeezing his eyes shut.

"Aww, 'cmon Ashy boy; you can't have a party without your old pal Bad Ash, can ya?" His reflection gave a manic, gleeful giggle.

Ash glared at his reflection. "I got rid of you five years ago," he said, as if to remind himself.

"You know that and I know that…" he leaned menacingly close, grinning. "But does Robin know that?"

"Stay away from her," Ash growled.

"Are you forgetting something, pally? I'm you and you're me." A dirty grin leered up at Ash from the cracked glass. "At least, last time I checked…"

Ash seized the mirror. "Listen to me, you rotten piece of…"

A knock on the door. "Ashley?"

Ash opened his eyes, looking straight into the mirror. His reflection was his own again, and glaring back -he took a moment to compose himself, then headed to the door and opened it. "Hi, mom."

The small, dark-haired woman standing in the doorway had his eyes and crooked smile, and she watched him with solemnity in her gaze. "Ashley, are you okay?"

"Yeah, ma, I'm just nervous," he lied. "S'everything ready?"

She nodded, reaching to straighten his Pepto-pink bow tie. "Your father would be so proud of you, Ashley," she declared.

"Yeah?" Ash wondered with a shrug. His father had died when Cheryl was a baby.

"Oh, he sure would! You look so handsome, and you grew up so brave. In spite of the…you know."

He fondly rolled his eyes; "You make it sound like I've got crabs," he bitched.

"Well, they are like crabs…nasty little things that like to bite."

A shiver ran through him – his mother knew far too much about the way he lived - but Ash didn't waver in his gaze. "You go get a good seat, darlin'," he said fondly.

"I will," she smiled. "Ashley…you're very sure about this, aren't you?"

He scoffed. "Sure, why?"

His mother twisted the hem of her dress. "Robin is a little bit…possessive. She's as fussy as a schoolmarm at her final exam."

"So? Maybe I wanna be fussed over."

"It's not the way she pampers you," his mother corrected. "But the way she treats you. It's as if you can't think for yourself."

"Ma, you know me – when would I ever let a girl do the thinking for me?"

And as soon as she was out of the room, he quite clearly heard, "yeah, you wouldn't want her to miss out on all of the fun, wouldya?"

When Ash turned around, his reflection was stationary and placid; not the evil one he secretly feared. Squaring his jaw, he walked out into the vestibule and prepared to say his vows.

***

The church had been ornately decorated in the most baroque style possible. Ash expected the minister to fart out a couple of pink bunnies as he delivered the homily. But Ash stood there, watching Robin come toward him, her train four feet long and her sleeves poofy, her dark hair piled high under a lace veil and her eyes shining with love for him.

Well, Ash paid more attention to the soft bounce of her breasts than any other part of her, but the love in his eyes for those were unmistakable, too.

They approached the priest and Ash soon found himself stating the complex vows Robin had requested. She had expected poetry of him for some bizarre reason, and he tried to give to her…he failed miserably as he stumbled over the words, and her brow furrowed.

"Do you need some water?" she whispered after his latest flub. "Maybe this is too much for you, considering your…condition."

Ash glared. "I know how to talk." His words rang around the vestibule, bringing back old, unpleasant memories. He finished off the vows at last, ignoring the flicker of the candelabra behind the priest and the suddenly chilled air of the church.

Finally, the priest asked if anyone had any objections. He supposed he didn't; the small gathering of people in the church definitely didn't. And just when they were pronounced man and wife, when he bent her and dipped her for a kiss, he heard the howl of demons angrily demanding flesh.

A soft choking noise came from the woman in his arms; when Ash opened his eyes he saw the gristly remains of his right hand clutching a cake knife, which had been plunged into Robin's neck.

Robin's eyes flew open – they were now the milky white color that only a Deadite possessed. A flinch on his part kept Ash from planting his lips on the snarling, peeling lips of his former bride. She pulled the cake knife clean of her throat.

"Hello lover," she sneered, her voice a reedy demonic snarl.

Ash dropped her ass-first onto the altar and reached behind his back for his gun…which, of course, wasn't where he'd left it. He managed to kick the knife out of her hand and so Robin picked up a candelabrum and clocked a groomsman across the brow as she lunged for Ash. His eyes darted around as he dodged the Robin-demon's lunges, jabbing a hand beneath the flailing legs of a vacating relative to find his Remmington hidden securely under the seat of the first pew.

A shriek made his skin crawl; by the time Ash had whipped around his once-perfect fiancée had ripped the head off of the priest and was chewing on the soft, stringy inner workings of his shoulder. She was distracted enough to let him cock the gun. "Hey ugly," he growled. "Pink and red don't mix," he concluded, squeezing the trigger hard.

He was wrong; the things bled white down the front of her torn and blood-clotted dress.

It didn't take her down, though. "You call that a threat?" it jabbed a finger at him, her voice a howl of outrage.

"No, but this is!" he yanked the chainsaw out from beneath the pew, tossed the gun into the air and caught it in his free hand.

"Well, loverboy, here we are again…" she grinned, her green teeth flashing in the black void of her mouth. "I thought you'd've learned some new tricks by now…" She snarled, lunging toward him. Ash just growled and started firing; again, again, again.

But she kept coming, until the gun was empty, until she had him pinned down in the vestibule. Damn it, that always works!

Under duress, he remembered the only thing that would work.

 _Nos Faratos Alamemnon Kanda…uh,..Kandar…amemdeus! Kandar!."_

Well, some of them…

"Aww, shit!"

The porthole opened directly behind him, a swirl of wind and steam that yanked Ash off his feet. He clung in desperation to the vestments rack before him as the vortex sucked communion wafers and robes from the shelves and into the black void. It ripped him off his feet, howling all the way.

"No!" shouted the demon as she was yanked through the air, limbs whipping weightlessly as she was yanked into the porthole. "I'll get you, Williams! Vengeance will be miiiinne!" she screamed as she was pulled into the darkness.

Ash managed to hold on for a second more, until he was pulled into the void to the tune of his own screams.

***

The pull of the vortex was an inexplicable sensation; a throttling lack of physical control, a soul-deep fear of being pulled someplace new, the notion of having absolutely no input into the way he would survive it all. And pain, lots and lots of pain.

There was a small explosion, no more than a pop, as he fell, a familiar four feet to a field strewn with rocks and sand, followed by a rain of religious paraphernalia.

Ash lay perfectly still upon his back for a few moments, allowing the shockwaves of pain inundating his body to dissipate. He could only ask himself what in the hell had gone wrong. _Well, wasn't this a revolting development?_

He scrubbed a hand over his face and groaned, coughing softly as he looked around. "Aww damnit, not this again…" Sitting up and reflexively tried to brush the dust off of the sleeve of his ripped and torn tuxedo, he rotated his shoulder. Convinced he was of relatively sound mind and body, he powered down the saw and jammed it into the holster he'd put on habitually under his tuxedo jacket. As he took another look around, he realized his instincts were right; this was medieval England, though the castle off in the distance looked somehow smaller and dirtier than Castle Kandar had in his memories. It wasn't the baking hot summer that he had been dumped into, either, but a blustery fallish day overcast with bruise-colored clouds; thunder rumbled in the distance, and it began to rain. Ash took off his jacket and draped it over his own head to keep the chainsaw and gun dry.

Predictably, a riding party galloped over the dunes to greet him. He expected to see Arthur at the head of the fleet of troops, and hoped that he wasn't somehow ahead of the timeline and that he'd be welcomed back joyfully.

But at the head of the group of knights was a figure much smaller and slimmer, wearing a glimmering metal suit of armor bearing the lion insignia of Arthur's people upon its chest.

"Uh…I come in peace," he held out a hand, approaching them. "I'm a friend of Lord Arthur's, and I'm a little lost…Alright, maybe I'm a lot lost, so what?"

"We know who ye are, chosen one," a soft voice informed him.

Ash watched in silent apprehension as the rider pulled off the helmet. "Sheila?" he murmured. For it was his ex-lover, her hair tied in a bun at the top of her head, a mace in her hand and a sword and dirk at each hip.

Ash stared at her. Sheila's expression was grimmer than he remembered it; her lips were creased and she bore a deep scar upon her right cheek. Boldly, she studied him in return; her tone was completely neutral as she said, "Ash. Thy timing remains faulty."

He shuffled his feet, ducking deep into the safety of his jacket. "Out on a joy ride?"

She shook her head. "Much has changed in the years of thy slumber." Sheila cocked her head. "How did ye come to return to our time? Did ye return to the home ye so prized?"

Ash licked his lips. "Yeah. Went back for five years."

She shook her head. "Tis a grave miscalculation. Though you may have woken in thy own time, in this time ye still sleep within the caves upon yon hills!"

"So? I'm not asking for a guided tour of every Batcave in London; I just wanna hide out here 'til I know myladyfriend's not a threat anymore."

"Again?" she remarked with a raised brow. Ash turned away and she reached out to touch him instinctively. "Ashley."

He hated that tone of hers; it meant trouble; he automatically shook off her hand. "I didn't ask to be brought here. The damn book decided to take me on a pleasure cruise to crumpet central."

"By that," she declared in a crisp voice, "ye mean that ye misspoke the words once more."

He frowned at her. "I said 'em. I said almost every damn word, I just…"

"What is it ye once told me?" she withdrew from him, her icy tone so out of character that he shuddered. "Almost don't mean shit."

Ash stared at the ground, feeling the heavy jacket dipping water down his back, making the perfect excuse for him. "You wanna get me in out of the rain or what?"

She paused for a rather long time. Ash worried that she'd say no and leave him to forage for himself; his cocksureness automatically kicked in to soothe him. He'd live off the land like a king, making fires and killing game; he didn't need her, would never need her. If he didn't die of terminal dysentery, it'd be sweet.

"Milady," one of the troopers spoke up, "should we ride for the castle? It grows dim."

Her jawline firmed. "Aye, Sir Duncan. We ride for Castle Kandar. Men! See to the stripping of the booty." She turned and mounted the horse. "Ye may ride with us, promised one. I fear we do not have a fresh horse for thee, so ye shall be forced to travel in tandem."

Ash shrugged. "Anything that'll get me in front of a fire." Sheila held out one of her gauntleted hands. He stared at it for a second, realizing she meant to put them together on the white stallion. "Woah, why can't I just walk?" It sounded like submission, something Ash wasn't quite willing to do.

"Tis the quickest way." She seemed to enjoy tormenting him. He just shrugged and took the offer up.

Their ride back to the castle was completely silent. Ash's mind provided all of the over e chatter he could ever wish for, most of it about Sheila. What could turn a pretty girl into a woman of undeniable toughness? He was confused, intrigued, and admittedly attracted to this somewhat different version of his former lover – that much he could confess to himself.

As they drew closer to the castle Ash began to understand why he'd felt it so imposing and forbidding. Castle Kandar had been wrecked in some sort of battle, large jagged holes gaping raggedly in its sides, the stones inked black with some sort of smoke damage and the banners limp and torn as they drooped from their battlements. "What the hell happened?" he asked Sheila.

Her expression remained cool as they approached the drawbridge. "Did ye assume time ceased when ye departed, milord?"

Ash glowered. "I thought you'd take care of the place for them. What happened to Arthur?"

She frowned back. "Tis no concern of thine," she declared, her gaze the same steady one that he could never hold. Ashamed of himself, he looked away. The party halted before the jagged hole of the moat; Ash stared as a white stripling of bone floated to the surface – a femur or a forearm bone, something that shouldn't be visible to the eye. Ash turned away.

An armor-wearing knight peered over the dirty edge of the battlement. "Who goes there?"

"Tis Lady Sheila," she called. "I have a visitor."

The boy's eyes widened. "Tis the Promised One!" he cried, raising the alarm. As the drawbridge slammed down and the iron portcullis rose, a flood of people, peasants and pages and knights and bakers, the lifeblood of the Castle Kandar - poured into the bailey. Ash basked in the applause of the rabble, half-repulsed and half-pleased by them, and aware of the fact that the crowd was somewhat thinner than it had been on his leavetaking. Her spine straightened, and Ash knew that this entire production was pissing her off, but could she blame him for soaking in a little adulation? Whatever her true feelings, Sheila ignored his arrogant pride and simply dismounted, handing her horse off to a squire with Ash still astride the horse waving to his 'people' like a president on the campaign trail.

Once a squire thought to give him a leg down, Ash brusquely shoved his way through the teaming throngs to follow Sheila into the great room, where someone took his coat and he took off his tie. She had already vacated the room when Ash sat down at the table and watched a squire rush away with an armful of Sheila's suit. He turned his attention to the small banquet illuminated by fat red candles sitting before him. There stood at the center of the table an assortment of fruit, cheese, bread and meat; Ash picked up a pear and took a satisfyingly juicy bite.

Nearby, muffled shouting could be heard. Ash recognized the sound of Arthur's voice, and Sheila's more plumy tone supporting his voice, higher and lower by degrees. Ash cocked an ear to their argument but couldn't make out anything interesting. He focused on the food again; a servant brought him wine and he swallowed it down greedily, and then he waved away an apple tart.

"Divided they fall," a voice taunted him. Ash felt every hair on the back of his neck rise up as his eyes climbed the walls. Predictably, the voice came from a mirror mounted to the wall.

"Their relationship isn't my business," Ash growled.

"You've made a hell of a mess, Ashy boy," his reflection taunted him. "Did you think they'd be spared the pain you went through?"

"I don't give a damn," Ash said, but his tone held no conviction.

"So what if you don't? You're the one who opened the door. It's your job to close it."

Ash picked up a drumstick. "Close this," he growled. Before he could fling the meat at his reflection, the argument ceased.

When Sheila re-appeared, her cheeks were stained red with the anger she'd spent, and as Ash had guessed she'd stripped off the suit of armor. Underneath, she wore buff-colored breeches and a man's dove-gray shirt, tucked in at the waist and held together with a thin leather belt, and a pair of chocolate colored kid boots. Ash could see the play of newly-formed muscles beneath the material of her pants, a firmness that he found fresh and appealing. She didn't notice his admiration, and probably wouldn't have welcomed it; her stride to the table was demanding and fearless. Then she took a hunk of bread, tore off a chunk and chewed heavily.

"What's going down?" he asked.

Her eyes narrowed. "Do ye truly care?"

As glowered. "Yeah, so lay it on me."

She sighed. "Arthur has drunk himself to near insensibility. I was forced to place him in the dungeon for his own protection."

Ash whistled. "The boyscout's that far gone? Damn."

"If ye had experienced what my people hath experienced, ye would be near insensible with madness as well."

"Who says I haven't?"

Sheila glared at him. "Aye, I know of thy madness, thy insanity which ye spake of before. Ye did not mention that it made ye insensible."

"So, let's make it a fair trade. You didn't tell me what you've been through and I'll tell you about the cabin."

Sheila glared at him in pure disgust. "A month henceforth of thy leaving, Arthur and Henry held a tourney to celebrate the union of the Scotch and English border countries against the tyranny of King Henry…"

"Woah, wait a minute – you already had a king?"

She glared. "This story is not thine to tell," she replied. "Aye, we do. The Wiseman and Arthur hoped ye would challenge him for possession of the crown. They did not approve of his policies toward the Scottish people."

Ash considered the thought. It appealed to his ego but ultimately made him recoil; he didn't want trouble now any more than he had then. "So what happened?"

"Our people were gathered in a single place. 'Twas a terrible mistake. The forces were not entirely lain to rest. Something wert amiss, some darkness that allowed the forces of wickedness to seep into our present. They lay waste to many of our people. In the weeks hence more blood has flowed."

"How'd that lead to you running around out there?"

"Arthur has been badly injured by his failure. He has taken to new measures to relieve his stress. To drink," she explained. "He is fearful and mistrustful of all who come to him."

"Is that why you're in charge?"

Sheila picked up the cheese knife and began to play with its sharp tip, drawing invisible curliques on the surface. "No others with high born blood dwell within the castle walls. I am proud to act in his stead."

"Didn't think he was the type to puss out," Ash remarked.

Sheila watched him gravely. "If ye had seen what he had, ye would drink as much if not more." She knew that this belittled his own experience and she immediately said, "his experience is near as severe as thine. Enough to destroy the soul of any man."

"That's no excuse for being a baby. Tell him he gets to whine when he chops his own hand off. Or when he has to kill someone he loves."

"They slaughtered Arthur's children." Five simple, flat words, and they immediately quieted Ash, who was no big fan of kids, but could still sympathize with the loss of a relative. "And his lady wife, besides."

"I've been there. Wish I got a teeshirt or something. But what's that got to do with me?" Ash wondered.

"Not all the universe holds has to 'do' with thee, Ashley," she replied. "Though thy reappearance has certainly upset Arthur."

Awkwardly, Ash moved away from Sheila. "I didn't mean to come back," he said uselessly.

"One never 'means' what one does, but one does it all the same," she silently moved toward the door. "Ye're ever tripping over thyself."

He grabbed her by the wrist. "My time here's over. I served my purpose, and when I figure out how to get back home I'm going."

"La, I would not have expected anything else of thee. Ye're running in a circle again," she remarked, withdrawing from him. "Coward," she growled, "I need a soldier, not a child!" Thens she pulled away and running out of the room.

Ash glowered after her, resisting the desire to grab her by the shoulders and shake some sense into her. Damn it, he thought he was done with this crap.

He should've known that, as a wise Muppet once said, 'thinking' isn't the same as 'doing'.

***

His first impulse was to run, and, as always, he followed it. Ash found his steed still waiting in the barn for him. The stableboys adored Ash openly as he checked to see if the thing was ready to ride, begging for stories and morsels of attention as he largely ignored them. Then he climbed aboard and drove the beast through the castle gates.

Four minutes out in the cold rain reminded him of the fact that he had no idea where the hell he was going. Travelling northward, he found a stream, dismounted, and let the horse drink, shoveling a few handfuls of water into his own mouth. The spooky sensation that had been crawling over his skin persisted in pinpricking the back of his neck.

 _Join us,_ the wind seemed to whisper. _Join us!_

That was when Sheila abruptly surfaced in the water before him. Ash screamed but, he told himself, it was a very manly scream.

"What the hell are you trying to do to me?" Ash yelled.

Sheila glared up at him. "Damnable man! Ye interrupted me at my swim!"

"You swim in a half-frozen lake in the middle of April?" Ash rolled his eyes. He didn't bother to pretend that he wasn't enjoying the sight of her standing there in a soaking wet shift.

"Aye. It purifies the soul and clarifies the mind. If ye took such pains, perhaps ye'd have a keener wit," she growled, staring back at him defiantly.

"My wits're sharper than yours. I've got six hundred years of evolution behind me."

"La. Then perhaps those years of evolution would teach ye to tie thy horse further downstream. He is eating from a bush of bayberry that shall leave him with a rather severe case of dysentery."

Ash glared over his shoulder, dismayed to see she was right – or he guessed she had to be right, knowing nothing about the effects of bayberries. He grabbed the horse's reins and walked it further up the stream, with Sheila at his heels. "Are ye not going to thank me?"

"No."

Her posture stiffened. "Whyever not?"

"I would've figured it out for myself!" he snapped. "Look, whattya want from me, lady?"

She leaned against the tree trunk, staring at her feet. "Tis a question I might ask of thee. It seems fate has pushed us together once more."

"Don't tell me you believe in that fate bullshit," he growled. "All of this' been one long mistake, from the first time I saw you."

"A mistake?" she scoffed.

"Yeah, a mistake! I don't belong here! I shouldn't be here talking to you like some stupid shmoe off the street! And the sooner you stop needling at me and trying to guilt-trip me, the better off we'll both be!"

That was when a chill wind began to blow, and a black cloud swept over the sun. He knew too well the signs of an oncoming Deadite attack and shoved her out of the way. Sheila hit her head against the tree as his suddenly red-eyed horse reeled upon him, mouth foaming and hide rotting and mottled.

"That's one nasty case of indigestion," Ash remarked as he grabbed the gun from its holster. When the beast charged, he aimed and pulled the trigger, letting loose with a grunt in time with each kickback exploding from his rifle.

The horse took two bullets and kept coming for them. Ash reached for the saw, revved it, tossed the empty gun over his shoulder and buried the whirring blade into the animal's head.

The thing let loose with a shriek as bone particles and sprays of black blood spewed into the air. It covered Ash from neck to screaming mouth as it gushed its arterial life force out upon the tree and the surrounding brush. He didn't stop slicing until it was chopped into thirty indistinguishable but twitching sections.

The beast kept moving, even in its death throes, the wail of a demon unsettled. Ash dug a deep pit in the earth and dumped it, piece by piece, into the dark earth below.

He saved the head for last as always, nudging it into the pit with the tip of the barrel. It continued to chant as he pushed each half into the ground. "We're gonna get you," it sing-songed. "We're gonna get you…."

"Nobody gets me, baby," he replied, filling it in until the chanting was only a distant, horrid memory.

He turned back toward Sheila, who lay still slumped against the tree. He approached her cautiously, eventually gathering enough courage to check her pulse.

It was there; the impact had probably knocked her out. He decided it would be wise to strip her out of the wet slip and dry her off, but first he'd have to find shelter.

Hesitating for a moment, Ash looked apprehensively down on the woman's body. It was an eerie reminder of Linda's fate, but Sheila wasn't cackling; she was just out of it. He picked her up and carried her to her mare, taking it by the reins. Then he walked the both of them northward, until the sandy browns of the flatlands joined the rolling highland greens that promised fresh earth.

He hadn't intended to seek out Henry the Red when he started his journey, but Ash was subconsciously looking for his old friend, the knowledge of Arthur's dissolution in the back of his mind. He may have yearned for a way back home, but first he'd have to see Sheila settled and well. Why, he didn't fully understand. Maybe she was some unspoken part of his prophecy. The Wiseman, after all, hadn't been completely forthcoming with him about the multiple book part of the deal; maybe he'd left something undone during the journey that needed to be completed. Ash didn't particularly care – or so he told himself – but if it got him back home to a time before Robin had turned into a drooling monster he'd do it.

Finally, he came upon a small ramshackle cottage far swest of Castle Kandar, where the plains began to flatten out into rocky marshes. He saw woodsmoke piping from its rock chimney, and the well-hatched windows glowed in the darkness. Ash hitched the horse up to the side of the house, let it drink from the sucker's rainbarrel, then knocked on the door.

When it swung open, he began, "hi, my…girl knocked her head against the tree. I was wondering if we could borrow a bed for her 'til she gets back on her feet?"

"Promised one?" The voice was too familiar; he had to maneuver Sheila's dead weight to better see over her wet head.

"Old man?" he blurted out. Of course it was the old man; the face he least wanted to see.

Before he could blink, Ash was swept into the warm safety of the hut. Exclaiming his delight at this new turn of events, the old man served him a bowl of hearty mutton stew and a handful of coarse wheat bread before lying Sheila onto a straw palette. She was beginning to stir, the knot on her head turning violet; the old man made her a cold compress and watched her as he petted the Irish wolfhound sitting at his knee.

"You have been missed, Promised One," the Wiseman declared, feeding the gray-joweled dog a bone. "My people are once again troubled by the Deadites."

"Tell me something I don't know, methulzela," Ash replied under his breath. He raked a hand through his hair and groaned. "Okay, buddy, what do we do about this mess?"

"There is a way to cease their constant aggression," he declared, staring beyond Ash into the flames, "is to journey to the cliffs beyond this dwelling place. The book says that there is an ancient being of great wisdom – wisdom greater than even my own – who dwells within a cave there. His power is an ancient power, a fearsome one, but he is said to have the solution that shall restore peace to our kingdom and bring happiness to the land!"

Ash glowered. "Woah, wait a minute; why didn't you tell me about this the last time I was here?"

"Because retrieving yon book was the simplest of solutions. Something has gone amiss in the incantation for thy return to thy time. The tome itself is now not enough; we require a more powerful solution, and the prophet shall provide it."

Ash was furious. "You're telling me that I have to go running around the ass crack of London to find some bearded shmoe who might not even exist?"

"Yes," the Wiseman declared sadly. "I do fear that this is the only solution I may offer thee, Promised One. If ye do not quest for this great wise one, ye shall be doomed to remain in this time – a time that shall be doomed if ye do not save it."

"Doomed?" Ash's brow crinkled. "You didn't say anything about dooming anybody!"

"The better to prevent thee from rushing away from the problem," the Wiseman declared. "If our people perish, so shall perish the future of Britain. Within our walls are the women and men whose children and children's children shall sire the writers and warriors and architects of the future. I shall not tell ye more than I already have. Knowledge is a dangerous thing within thy grasp. "

Ash took a good ten minutes to puzzle that one out. "Damn," he mumbled. "You've got me screwed coming and going."

"Must ye curse?" a soft voice wondered from the furs. Ash turned to see Sheila watching them both from beneath her compress.

"You're back," Ash noted. "Nice job covering me back there."

"I didnay have time to defend myself," she pointed out. "I wert overwhelmed."

"If you want to stay alive you can't let that happen," Ash replied arrogantly. "You have to watch out for your own ass, sister."

"La, the way ye neglected to take care of THY own 'ass' when ye forgot the words."

The Wiseman hushed her. "Lady Sheila, the time has passed for such arguing! The Chosen One must complete the journey to the mountains and find the spell which will break the hold of the dead over this land!"

"He trods upon ground that belongs to myself," she replies fiercely. "Allow me to quest for the great wise one, I shall find him without fail."

"It is not thy domain, woman," he replied. "Only the Promised may…"

"Only the promised may," she mocked. "The Promised does not know how to survive the wilderness of our time, nor does he understand how to live among our people. This is my forte."

"Then perhaps ye should quest with him as a helpmate."

Ash glowered. "Both of you slam a cork in it. I've gotta go take a walk and clear my head."

"Ash!" Sheila hissed, but he eluded her grip and made his way outside.

***

He started walking blindly into the night, not exactly sure where he was headed, only knowing that he needed to get some distance between himself and the bullshit raining down upon his head.

A crow called, making Ash shiver; damn it, it was cold out there all of a sudden…

He didn't have time to scream; a former highwayman and current Deadite popped up in his path with lightening quick speed. Before he could make his body move, Sheila had split the poor unfortunate creature in half with a quick shot from her gun, coating his face and chest in another wave of black blood.

"Tisn't wise to walk alone in the woods," she remarked. "Surely ye've ken'd this from thy travels?"

Ash glared at her. "So you got that one. Good for you. Want a cookie?"

Sheila rolled her eyes. "Ye might admit that thee needed my help."

Ash shook his head. "Lady like you shouldn't be running around trying to take care of this by yourself. This shit doesn't belong on your shoulders."

Sheila snorted, falling into step beside him. "Milord, do ye recall our misspent first meeting?"

"Yeah. The Deadites wore brown, you wore green."

Sheila rolled her eyes. "I threw a rock at thee, and cracked thy brow."

"I remember."

"Do ye?"

"You've got a way of getting yourself noticed," he replied sarcastically.

She glared at his flippancy. "But we did overcome that difficulty and found a new emotional communion."

Ash was nonplussed. "That what you call screwing around here?"

Sheila ignored him. "To survive this journey, we must behave as friends. If only for a few hours. Thy fate, after all, as well as mine, rests upon it."

Ash made a noncommittal sound that could pass for agreement. "Maybe you're right. Maybe," Ash mumbled.

Sheila laughed softly. "Ye're the most stubborn man in all of existence."

"Then we're a good match, 'cause you're the most stubborn woman in the world."

Sheila simply continued walking, leading him back around the briar patch, causing Ash to follow along and circle back to the hut. "Perhaps our stubbornness shall benefit our case yet."

Ash glowered. "Maybe. Look, I don't wanna fight with you either, lady. Weird as it is to see you again, I…sort of missed having you around."

She gave him a withering look. "Must ye continue to lie?"

"I'm not lying. Look, sometimes a guy needs a woman around to keep his head in line. And you were it for me."

She watched him, curiosity in her eyes. "Then ye do not have a woman now?"

"I had one," he replied flatly. "Toldja, I was coming back from my wedding, remember?"

"Ye didn't say that."

"I didn't?" Ash shrugged. "So I didn't, so what?"

She carefully averted her eyes from his. "Shall ye keep her company when ye return to thy time?"

He shrugged. "Depends on where the vortex dumps me," Ash replied. "What about you?"

"There are not many surviving specimens of manhood in Kandar," she pointed out. "And none who…provoke me as thee do."

"Oh." Ash said. What could he say to something like that? That she made his head hurt as much as she made his balls ache and they'd be better off without each other?

They stood at the threshold of the doorway for a moment.

"I did miss thee, as well," Sheila finally admitted.

Ash smirked. "I knew it," he replied, which earned him a light punch to the shoulder.

"Do not develop a swelled head." She gave him a quick up-and-down look. "It shall be odd to find friendship with thee," Sheila remarked.

"You'll get used to it," he said, escorting her into the hut.

***

As they road through the hills and dales of Kandar, Ash had to admit Sheila was a decent travelling companion…when she wasn't talking too much. He didn't even mind riding behind her for miles – after all, it provided him with a lovely view of her backside.

Sure, he lusted after her, he reminded himself for the millionth time that day, but he didn't belong back here. As soon as they fixed things, he'd have to go back home; it was an oft-repeated matra as they journeyed on their single horse toward the promised all-knowing creature.

The following evening, with Sheila still recovering from her injury, they decided to stop at an inn to eat and water the horse.

Sheila insisted on doing the ordering for both of them – stew and bread and ale, a meal that would stick with them. He kept a protective eye on her while they entered the taproom and settled down.

He couldn't help but notice the way she angled her legs, trying to appear tough and assertive, somewhat masculine. "What happened to the sweet little girl I met back at the castle?" he teased, slugging down his beer.

"She did not have the weight of her people upon her." Sheila pointed out. "I hath not been chosen but I may well have been, for the duty I bear is a heavy one."

"Thought you didn't mind it."

She shrugged. "I bear the mantle of Kandar with honor," she said honestly. "If I am never taken to wife and my people survive, I shall have done my duty in this world."

Which, of course, meant that she wanted someone to take her to wife. A retort rested on Ash's lips but it quickly died when the fire they sat beside began to gutter. A chill filled the room and a soft breeze filled the air. In the semidarkness, they both cautiously turned to scan the room.

When their one-time steward popped up with a pasty face and a snarl on his lips beside the table, they both involuntarily flinched back. He knocked Ash back with one punch and with superhuman strength grabbed Sheila by the collar of her shirt.

"I smell a pure soul," it snarled, breathing its foul breath directly into her face. She shrieked in its face.

A whistling sound came from the floor, distracting the newly-made Deadite. "I smell dead meat," Ash growled. He'd withdrawn the rifle and had it cocked and trained on its face.

Sheila, to his surprise, took full advantage of the distraction, stabbing the Deadite with her dagger. It howled in surprise and dropped her, allowing Sheila to roll out of the way and Ash to blow a hole in the Deadite's head.

Completely oblivious to their surroundings and the panicked evacuation of their fellow patrons, they systematically began hacking the Deadite into twitching pieces.

A bar maid came from the kitchen with their order and, when she saw the mess they were making of the steward she shrieked, dropping it into a pile on the ground. Wide-eyed, she asked if she could get them anything.

"Yeah," Ash panted, chopping the Deadite's right leg off, "a shovel and a burlap sack."

 

***

They laughed about it as they bedded down for the night, several miles away from the inn and the mess they'd caused. Sheila stretched out beside him in her sleeping gown, a proper amount of space between their bodies.

"I do not know how ye could possibly become so accustomed to such events, milord," she remarked.

Ash shrugged. "Comes with the territory, baby. You'll get used to it."

"I dinna know if tis something I wish to become accustomed to." She stretched out on her back. "Good eve, milord."

"Night." But as she slept Ash watched her dream away, her breasts rising and falling beneath the sheets and her lips parted slightly. The level of temptation he felt surprised him.

 _"Go on. Give her some sugar,"_ a nasty little voice whispered from across the room. But he had enough willpower to ignore it, to turn around and go back to sleep.

If he was ever going to defeat his hand and restore peace to the rest of the world, he would need it.

****

The following morning, the twosome finally reached the Northernmost cliffs of the kingdom. Ash stared at the foreboding, shear walls before him, feeling the rising chill of fear invade his bones.

"We must take the horses upward – there is a thin, long, winding path, and group of caves toward the top. He is there among the caverns."

"You expect me to climb that?" He didn't know how the hell she expected any such thing from him.

"If my father could bring my mother through yon mountains when she was great with child, I'm quite sure ye can follow me." She showed him the way up the fog-shrouded, rock-strewn path, cutting a swath ahead of them by tossing large rocks off the pathway, so that the horse wouldn't come up lame under their sharpness.

Ash felt the chill wind cutting through his long-ruined tuxedo shirt, whispering through the tears and kissing his bare back and chilled shoulders. He pulled a thick red tunic woven of white silk from the horse's pack and swiftly donned it.

The climb took far longer than Ash had anticipated. Soon they found themselves battling a freezing downpour. He shuddered and hung close to the horse as the altitude increased, as did his complaints, which Sheila ignored entirely.

His last thought before the winged Deadite descended upon them was that it had been too quiet for the past couple of hours. Ash reached backward for the saw as it dug its claws into Sheila's left shoulder.

"No," she cried out, her expression reading _not again_. The memory of her being carried off hit a raw nerve as panic set in for Ash. To his surprise, instead of calling for him she reached for the dagger strapped to her ankle. She thrust it upward, into the belly of the beast, and it spewed yellow and white puss over the ground and her hand.

Ash had retrieved his saw by then, and revved it once before liberating the beast from its head. The thing's shriek echoed down the canyon as it tumbled, end over end, bits and pieces falling in a gory cacophony down the side of the cliff until Sheila alone hacked viciously at a bit of a wing.

Ash wiped his bloody face against the back of his sleeve. "That was…" he started, but before he could say more he noticed Sheila reaching for her sword. He ducked out of the way just before she split a winged Deadite's head in two.

As quickly as he could, Ash pulled his gun out and blasted the creature from the sky, holding the frightened horse still with his free hand. Sheila had chopped off its wings, and on its way down it dug its claws into her right wrist, trying to drag her over the edge of the road with it.

He reached out for Sheila just before she lost her balance. Using the horse's fearful bolting for leverage, Ash pulled her back over onto the pathway, their bodies colliding in the sudden, gloomy silence.

"Why the hell did you do that?" he yelled, grabbing her by the shoulders and shaking her.

"They come in pairs!" she spat out. "Unhand me, Ashley!" she demanded, but Ash only shook her harder.

"Don't you see? You could've been killed." He let go of her left arm and stared into her face. "They could've taken you again."

"La, and why does this matter to thee?"

Ash said nothing. He just stared at his feet. "I don't want you to die," he replied flatly. "Don't go getting any hot thoughts, Sugarlips. I toldja I've got a woman at home," he replied. "Sure, she's a rotting sack of bones, but she's still my girl, and maybe if I do this right I could save her!"

Sheila stared at Ash for a very long time before she broke contact with his body. "We must make camp," she declared. "The light is waning."

***

"So, what crawled up your crack?"

Sheila snarled as she made a small pile of the furs they'd carried with them and glared at him over her shoulder. "Perhaps the blood of those foul creatures hath tainted thy hearing." She shivered and turned toward the dying fire.

Ash moved a little bit closer to her. "Here If you catch a cold I'll have to drag your ass all over the mountains." That, Ash was certain, he didn't have the patience for. Sheila just stared at the fire as he wrapped the blanket around her, and so he turned over onto his back, staring up at the roof of the cave. "I know what's going on. It's 'cause you've still got the hots for ol' Ash. You're still nuts about me, right, baby?"

She turned on him so vehemently that he actually winced. "I released thee at thy wish," Sheila replied, "and so ye are loosed, and I am glad for it. There are many gentlemen of courtly means within the village who would set their cap for my hand. And eventually, I shall choose one among them to wed. I do wish to become a mother afore my womb turns to dust."

He frowned at the sudden, unexpected twisting sensation within his gut at the notion of Sheila being with someone else. "Yeah, fine. Sure. Whatever floats your boat."

"Can ye not simply release me to live as I wish?" she replied.

"I did that."

She turned around against the soft sable fur, facing him down. "And ye lie with me once more, thy eyes wandering my frame."

Ash grunted softly. "We've got one fur and one fire. Don't read anything into this."

Sheila didn't say another word. Closing her eyes tightly, she let out a sigh and stretched. Ash watched her breasts rise and fall as she gradually slipped off to sleep. He stared on, until the fire guttered and the voices taunting him grew to an indistinguishable murmur.

 

***

Another day of climbing finally lead them to the summit of the peak. Through a thickly-growing pine forest, Sheila and Ash cut their way through the mess until they finally reached a small stone cottage located with a field of scarlet pansies.

Ash immediately nudged Sheila aside. "Let me do the talking."

"La, as ye've had such facility for words afore," she remarked.

"I dunno what you said," Ash replied, as he started knocking roughly on the door. "Guess I should be glad I don't speak ye older than dirt English." She glared at his smirk.

At his fortieth knock, the door squeaked open with an eerie slowness. Ash nudged Sheila behind him and proceeded into the house. A single red velvet chair occupied a space before a fireplace; a cloyingly sweet scent filled the air, emanating from a cauldron hanging over it. The walls were lined with dusty books of various binding, and, as they edged into the room, the squeaking of rodents could be heard.

"Come closer, Promised One," came a voice from the far end of the room. Ash nearly shoved Sheila out of the cottage as he reached for the chair and flipped it around.

Sitting there was a shriveled husk of a man, his skin wrinkled and baggy as it hung off of spare bones. His eyes were sunken and nearly lidless. In his bony hand was an ancient-looking cup filled with wine. He leered crookedly at Ash. "The moons have finally aligned," he declared in an odd accent that Ash couldn't immediately place.

"Whatt're you talking about? What moons?"

The being released a rattling chuckle. "You are ever as empty headed as you were the day of your birth." He lifted the goblet of wine toward the light. "Chosen, have you ever wondered why you the one selected for such an arduous task?"

"Because I've got shit luck."

The old man ran his index finger along the rim of the goblet, causing it to make an eerie sound of wind whistling through the willows. "You believe in such archaic idea?"

Ash glared at the man. "Who are you?"

He chuckled, sipped from his glass, and said, "now, I am everything. But once, in the jungles of Sumeria, I was a high priest named Tigh Tu Thrack. There I ws well-respected and loved, until a new man named Ashuru-Su-Nack entered my village. He was young and innocent yet fiercely warlike, and he preached a message of peace and tolerance that made him more popular than I could have hoped to be. I yearned to have the upper hand over the young fool." He smirked, leaning forward in his chair. "That was when I began collecting the materials for my little book. Inked in the blood of virgins, the pages and covers culled from the flesh of shepherd boys, the tendons of warriors – I brought them all together, until I had an empty tome. Into its fleshly pages I scribed the forbidden resurrection spells secretly handed down from the Aztec ancients, and using its power I attained immortality. With this new strength, I tried to assassinate Su-Nack, raising demons to possess the body of a child during a feast day. But the spells once invoked, were too powerful for me to govern. The demons possessed many bodies and took the lives of many in our village. I secluded myself, waiting for them to consume Su-Nack, but the bastard simply would not do the decent thing and die! With his studied knowledge of magic, he remembered what I did not – the incantation to set the demons to rest once and for all. He escaped into the woods, leaving behind the book, which I took into my possession. Seeking seclusion I traveled the continent until I came upon these mountains. I have been here since the dawn of the Christian era, have dwelled here a thousand years hence this miserable century, waiting for a warrior such as Su-Nack. There have been other Promised Ones before you, but none with your particular talent for survival. That's what made me believe that you were the true Promised. The reincarnation of Ashuru-Su-Nack." His finger slithered across the lip of the cup again, and a breeze ruffled Ash's hair, and a sense of doom filled Ash as he tried not to stare at the suddenly inky black eyeballs of the priest. "It has taken centuries for me to harness the power of the Necronomicon; I have so bonded with the infernal object that I don't need to hold it to promote its infinite powers. All so that I might finally have my revenge upon you…" He flicked his finger and Ash felt his body defy gravity as it was pitched backward into a shelf of books. He stood up, his seeming fragility a great ruse. "You will suffer; your soul given to feed the demons of Kandar! And the girl shall once more become my concubine, as all of your whores have been!"

Ash covered up his anxiety by yawning, brushing a book from his head. He drew his gun swiftly and aimed it. "Are you done with storytime, Gramps? 'Cause my trigger finger's burning for a little Boomstick action."

The villain gave a twisted smile as he whistled. "Your sister begged for your life before I plundered her sweet body. Her cries have sustained me these long years. And your dear lover, Sheila…she was the feistiest. I do love a fighter – they make life so very…interesting."

That sent Ash's blood boiling. "You bast-" Ash's eyes widened as the squeaking noise grew closer. He peered to his left. Then his right. He let out a sigh of relief before a sudden, excruciating pain between his legs made him shriek and glance at his lap. His disembodied hand was squeezing his balls!

"I'll kill ya!" Ash howled, struggling from beneath the books to pry the thing off of his groin. To Tigh Tu Thrack he bellowed, "you won't get away with this!"

"Take care of him for me, my pet." Then he howled dramatically. "The true Army of the Dead shall awaken! Vengeance will be mine!" he shouted, throwing his head back with an evil cackle. He opened his mouth wide and spat a river of flames onto the shelves surrounding Ash's body, setting them alight before disappearing in a cloud of smoke.

"Blow it out your ass, y'old bastard!" Ash called out, then winced as another pile of now-flaming books rained down on his head. Screaming from the searing pain of heat and brute force, he leapt to his feet. The door had been lit aflame, the ceiling beams supporting the mortar and brick walls alight. He dodged a falling beam as he rushed for the shuddered windows. His squeaking hand was somewhere behind him, groping for something sharp to injure Ash with. Desperately, he threw himself through the window, breaking the crosshatch, the muscular thickness of his hindquarters preventing his exit.

He saw his salvation frantically digging through the pack on their horse. "SHEILA!" he bellowed. "Help me, for Christ's sake!"

Sheila, smart as she was, already stood by waiting to offer him a hand. She grabbed both of his and pulled hard, but it wasn't any use.

"Get a rope!" he ordered, "tie it around my right hand and…" his eyes abruptly widened as he let out a pained scream. His possessed hand had discovered a fireplace poker, which was now dangling from Ash's abused left buttock. "I'LL GET YOU, YOU LITTLE SON OF A BITTTTCHHH!"

Sheila clambered onto the horse's back and kicked it into a gallop. Miraculously, the force of its movement dislodged Ash from the casing – he shot straight out of the window and was dragged with some force down the path as Sheila galloped to outreach the rapidly pursuing hand.

He made the mistake of looking over his shoulder and saw that not only was the hand on their tail, but so was the force that had been dogging him for so many years. "FASTER!" he called out, And Sheila spurred the horse to a manic pace, reaching for Ash's gauntlet hand and trying to help him up the horse's rump and onto the saddle. "Don't look back," Ash demanded grimly. Sheila didn't as she helped him into the saddle; he wrapped his arm around her waist as they made the dangerous and speedy trek down the side of the mountain.

The hills seemed to groan around them as they rushed through the world at a breakneck pace. By dawn they had reached the clearing, and the thicket of trees.

He was ready for the damn things this time. "Keep your head down," Ash barked, pulling out the saw. The trees groaned and reached out for them, thin bark-covered limbs scratching the horse's flanks. They could both hear the whispered request to "join us", which they ignored as they rushed the horse through the crooked pathways and jagged foottrails. Somehow, in the process, they managed to outrun the hand, and the Force, while splitting every tree and rock in its way, was losing ground. It took nearly a full day, but they managed to lose the force in a rock quarry by the cliffs.

 

By the time the castle was in sight, Ash and Sheila had ridden for three days nonstop, feeding their horse from their pack and watering it from their wineskins, starving themselves of what they required – Sheila was strong, uncomplaining and stunningly competent. Her biggest worries were for him and the horse - the poor thing nearly collapsed as they crossed the drawbridge.

"Milord!" shouted Sheila's man at arms as the twosome dismounted. "What are thy orders?"

He felt Sheila's fingers stiffen on the bridle, over his hand. "Batten down the hatches, and gather the men at arms. We're goin' demon hunting."

The knight's face twisted in confusion. '"Sir, are ye mad?"

"Yeah," Ash smirked. "But being crazy's a good thing. It gets shit done." He clapped the kid on the back. "Take me down to your gunnery."

"I," Sheila interrupted, "shall take him down. Hal, post the night watch, and have the children and the elderly gathered and taken to Duke Henry's holdings. Leave the women." Ash noticed her hands trembled as the boy waited to figure out which of them he should obey. "Hal, ye are my vassal. Remember thyself," she requested him.

The boy looked back toward Ash. He shrugged. "Whatever your lady wants."

Four seconds later, they were alone and she was again in high dungeon. "Look, too much is at stake for us to start this petty bullshit again, baby," Ash said, hauling heavy bags of gunpowder off of the shelves.

"I," Sheila declared, "am starting nothing. She pulled several guns from the walls behind them, and Ash's eyebrows rose in surprise. "If ye must commandeer the men, then I shall commandeer the women. Ye take them to find thy blood enemy, I shall teach them to defend our hearth. Carry these to the armory."

"You had someone make pieces like mine?"

"Aye, to keep the castle in safety."

He felt a variety of emotions, with pride and surprise leading the pack. "You missed me, didn't you?" Ash asked the wall as he took the stairs two at a time.

This didn't rattle her. "Aye. Did ye miss me?"

The question actually gave Ash pause. He'd thrown himself into the Robin situation so quickly that he didn't let himself reflect on what his time in Britain had meant to him. "Talked about you so much I didn't get the chance to miss you," he confessed.

Sheila paused, tilting her head. "Aye?" she chewed her lip thoughtfully. They turned toward one another instinctively. "Ashley," she began, but was cut off by the sound of a bottle crashing to the ground.

Arthur stood at the head of the stairway, glaring down at them. "If ye must rut with my cousin, please do not do it in the armory," he replied, swaying slightly on his feet.

Ash glared up the staircase. "Watch what ya say about the wench." Predictably, the choice of words earned him an elbow to the side, as Sheila immediately rushed to take care of Arthur.

"Ye mustn't be out of bed..."

"I am no mewling babe," he grumbled, trying to fight Sheila off. That she could successfully pull him away and get him to bed told Ash far more about Arthur's physical state than any words could.

By the time he had gathered together a proper store of gunpowder, he found her in the courtyard. The castle's women had flocked around her, and she was barking orders to them. Ash just growled and turned away, heading into the armory to find the blacksmith and begin his work.

****

It was midnight by the time Ash finally got a little bit of food into his starving body. Sheila had rounded up the women of the castle and put them to work gathering oil to boil, sharpening spears and leading them on prepatory drills. The rain drummed fiercely against the thatched roof of the castle and he shivered, walking to the fire and poking it up.

He heard a loud thump behind him and cautiously turned around - it was Arthur, lying on his feet with a cask of wine in his hand, his head on Ash's chainsaw. Careful to make sure it wasn't another trick, he shook the man.

"Leave me be, promised," Arthur growled.

"I would, but you're crushing my saw and Buzz don't like that," Ash replied, pulling his chainsaw from beneath Arthur's prone form. "I don't give a damn if you drink yourself into a hole, but Sheila needs you."

Arthur glared at Ash. "She has never needed any man but thee. Nor have these people." He glowered. "If ye had been with us, my children wouldn't..."

"Don't lay a guilt trip on me," Ash replied, helping the other man onto the bench. "You've been dealing with this for longer than me, the kingdom's your..."

"My children. Ye have never lot one so close to thee."

Ash stared into the fire. "Yeah. My baby sister. They took her first." Arthur didn't say anything. "That's why you've gotta get off your ass and fight. If you don't, they win. So stop bein' a pussy and do it for your family."

Arthur continued to stare into the fire, and Ash sat beside him, doing the same. It was a long time before either of them looked up from the flames.

****

That night, he dreamed he was back in his apartment on Walnut and Elm, married to a Robin who wore an apron and six-inch pink heels. She carried a crying baby in a sling pressed close to her chest, and her hair was up in pink hot rollers. Her eyes watched him silently, coolly, as he gorged himself on plates of roast beef and mashed potatoes and spinach, growing steadily bigger, his guts aching.

He plead with her, or try "Isn't this what you wanted, Ash? Normal?"

He woke before he could say no.

***

The following morning dawned cold and raincloud-spattered, and he awoke with a feeling of renewal in his bones. Ash strode confidently out of the guest chamber he'd been installed in the previous morning. Today he'd take a riding party out to find the Wiseman, who would give them the key to defeating Tigh Tu Thrack.

He shoved down breakfast and went in search of Sheila. To his amazement she wasn't with her fellow women training them, nor was she with the men at arms. A search of the soaking wet bailey led Ash to the barn, where he found Sheila sitting with a newly-born colt.

"Here," he declared, throwing her his cloak, "you'll get sick if you don't cover up. Who's that?"

"This," she declared, "is Ash of Kandar, sired upon the dam Kezia, son of Keogh. His father is the stallion ye rode to the cemetery."

"Who's his mother?"

Sheila smiled and touched the exhausted mare nuzzling Ash for food. "The one we rode from here to hell."

Ash rose a brow but didn't comment, finding a handful of buckwheat to feed the nosy horse from a nearby trough. Tough women surrounded him, but he never thought to praise them until this moment. He couldn't really praise her now, either. "Only you'd go out in the rain to check on some fleabitten old animal."

She seemed to know he was speaking about himself. "Old, perhaps, but nay, not yet bit by fleas," she teased him. For a moment she watched him as she petted the horse's flanks. "It is difficult between us, milord."

"We started out when you hitting me with a rock. It was never supposed to be easy."

She shook her head. "Nay, I dinna suppose so." She reached out to pull back his right hand. " This war requires soldiers, no matter which of us takes charge of them. If ye do not cup thy fingers correctly, she shall not feed."

"Oh," Ash remarked. Her fingers lingered upon his hand. "Y'gonna stop teasing me now?"

"I do not tease," she replied. Her fingers brushed his cheekbone, lingering over his scars. " Ye feel so cold," she worried.

It was those words that sent everything into focus for Ash, and he suddenly understood why Robin had never claimed his attention so strongly – no one had captivated him the way Sheila had. He tucked his left hand in her hair and used his right to pull her up against him. "C'mre and warm me up."

She responded to his touch instantaneously. Kissing in the chill barn, in the presence of a fleet of horses, Ash felt more alive than he had in years.

***

Ash's hand lingered for a second too long on Sheila's shoulder as he mounted up. "Keep them in check," he instructed her as he reined in his horse.

"Aye - ye shall keep safe?"

"Damn straight."

"THE TERROR!" Came a shout from the ramparts. "I see a horror!"

This stayed him. Both he and Sheila rushed up the battlements, spying something dark and lumbering moving in the distance.

It nearly blotted out the sunlight, and its stench wafted over the castle even though it was several miles away. Ash squinted - it looked like a giant, but it lumbered like a deadite. He squinted. What could it be?

His eyes flew wide open when he saw what it was - a monster made of a pile of corpses tied together by barbed wire, dripping blood and throwing trees like matchsticks down the mountain pathway. On a leash, he led a dog carrying the bloodied head of the Wiseman, its fiendish eyes red; perched on its shoulder was Tigh Tu Thrack and Ash's hand, both of them leading the charge.

"Jesus," Ash breathed.

"Ready the battlements!! Sisters, boil the oil, and seek the children's safety!" Sheila bellowed. Ash found himself loading guns for the men, checking on supplies for the torches and loading arrows, with boulders ready to be rolled over the sides of the battlements as well.

Within an hour, the giant arrived - Tigh Tu Thrack set the wooden drawbridge ablaze before having the giant rip the iron portcullis apart. The arrows and rocks dispatched the hell hound quickly and the men poured the vats of oil over the ramparts, causing the creature to howl in agony, but it smashed its way through a wall and stomped into the courtyard, using abandoned carts as projectile weapons.

The creature - its mouth made of the thighs of a thousand recently departed warriors - gave a ghoulish smile as it zeroed in on Ash. "Easy big fella," Ash whispered. "Uh...I probably taste horrible! I haven't had a bath in weeks!"

"Get him, my beloved creation!" shouted Tigh Tu Thrack. The only thought that graced Ash's mind was _go down shooting!_

Suddenly, the monster's expression twisted. A blast of exhaled oxygen knocked him on his back as it howled. By the time Ash had regained his footing, he looked down to see the army of soldiers – male and female alike – ripping apart the monster, bit by bit. The entire bailey was filled with furious Kandarites, all of them defending their home on Sheila's orders. He saw Sheila grin over her shoulder at him once as she climbed the beast's knees and sunk her spear into its groin.

The monster fell, howling, to the ground, its body gushing blood over the warriors, its huge arms swinging ineffectually. As Ash rushed to lower ground, he saw Henry deliver the monster its death blow between the eyes, an unseemly look of glee in his eyes as he laid waste to the monster. The dog ran away yelping in fright.

Ash was at eye-level with the shrieking Tigh Tu Thrack, who had fallen onto a higher portion of the bailey when his giant disintegrated.

Ash had already grabbed his gun, and the former master of wicked magic just smirked at him. "Do you think your puny weapons could have an effect on me?"

"There ain't anything 'puny' about my boomstick," Ash declared.

"Say goodbye," he growled. "Unless you'd like to have a spirited game of rock-paper-death!"

Ash began firing before he could recite the requisite spell, but none of the bullets seemed to have any effect. Tigh Tu Thrack was too far away to reach with his saw.

 _Gonna get you,_ a voice sing-songed in his head, _gonna get you ASH…._ He could almost smell his evil twin's foul breath and hear his cackle as he flailed for a solution.

As Tigh Tu Thrack began to recite an incantation that turned the sky amber-colored and opened a swirling porthole over the castle, Ash did the only thing he could do – grabbed a large stone from the ground beside him and held it up. "Hey ugly – I choose rock." With great force, he threw the stone.

Tigh Tu Thrack didn't react when the stone connected with his forehead. But his eyes and ears began to drip blood, and those eyes turned inward and began to roll. "Always…had…to…be…the…better…Man!" choked out Tigh Tu Thrack.

Instinct choked off Ash's quip about being the better man no matter what life he was on made him hit the deck and shout a warning for the others to do the same, and a loud pop sounded and a hot rain of blood covered the surrounding area.

Stillness reigned for a few moments. Ash finally climbed to his knees, covered from head to toe in blood, his tuxedo firmly and forever ruined. The sky was blue, the air still. The people of Kandar were similarly bedraggled, but they let up a roar when they saw Ash.

Sheila was in his arms, blood or no. "How did ye know something so simple as a rock would defeat him?"

Ash smoothly found an answer. "I did what I could to shut him up, that's all."

"But thee had a greater, instinctive knowledge of magic!!" He looked at his feet. "Ashley, ye mean to say that ye didnae know…"

Ash grabbed Sheila around the waist and mashed her against him."Don't matter. Put those sweet lips to work, sugar."

Ash knew as she did so that she did it to silence him. But he sure as hell didn't mind.

***

A few hours later, the people of Kandar had set about fixing their castle, under the suddenly enthusiastic stewardship of Arthur. Together they scrubbed the walls of blood, began rebuilding the destroyed battlements and replenish their depleted gunpowder supply. Sheila was the one who rode with Ash to another set of caves, with a fresh batch of potion made from the Wiseman's recipe. Ash already knew he would choose to wake up a little later this time, three months before he met Robin; soon enough to avoid meeting her entirely.

He spared a sad thought for Robin, knowing now that they never would have worked out in the long run. She wanted white picket fences and perfect Christmases, and all Ash had were his scars and his Delta 88. What he had been looking for in her was another Linda, and only spending time with Sheila – who was as far from Linda as a girl could get – did he realize that what this new him really needed was standing right beside him.

Not that he'd get her. Ash eyed the bottle of potion with trepidation. "I'm gonna miss that old man," Ash declared, somewhat facetiously, as they dismounted at the mouth of the cavern. He fiddled with the new white shirt he wore, the simple linen shirt Sheila had given him suddenly scratching his shoulders.

"So…"

Sheila watched him solemnly. When she suddenly threw her arms around Ash's neck and kissed him, be barely managed to brace himself. It was a bittersweet embrace and it seemed to last an eternity, one that Ash never wanted to end. When she released him, Sheila backed slowly away.

"And now tis my turn to walk away," she declared, turning from him.

A beat passed, maybe two. Ash's voice rang out, startling and bracing in the quiet afternoon. "Sheila!" She turned around slowly. "I could use a soldier."

She turned around slowly. And when she did, she was smiling.

***

"….And so she came back with me." Ash held out his left hand, showing the small crowd a golden band. "We got married as soon as we woke up – the new padre did it for free after I paid off the damage I did to the rectory. With Robin married to some other shmoe and my Evil Twin silent once and for all, nothing could've stopped me and Sheila. Been married for five years now." He sighed. "So, any questions?"

A timid girl at the back of the pack raised her hand. "Can I transfer to Health and Beauty?"

The rest of his trainees all issued similar requests or complaints. "Yeah, fine, go on! Cry to my supervisor! But when the Deadites come for ya, and you're staring 'em in their beady red eyes you tell 'em Ash sent you and watch 'em piss dust in fear!"

Only one of them stayed, a dark haired guy with a loopy grin who kept asking Ash how many bullets it took to kill a Deadite. Ash quietly handed him off to one of the boys in his still-beloved housewares, clocking out early to hover by the employee lounge.

Sheila finally emerged, wearing an utterly peaceful expression. "So what's the verdict?" Ash wondered.

She drifted by him, holding a box of raffia. She turned, opened her mouth, then closed it. "Nay, I do believe I shall not tell thee."

Ash frowned. "Hey, I've got rights here!"

She smiled. "Do not pester me. Would ye rather sit or stand? Hmm, or wear this about thy neck?" She held out an orange Halloween raffia with mock-menace.

He playfully shoved away her hands. "Just tell me!" Ash demanded.

She rose a brow at him. "I do hope…"

"What?" he growled.

"I hope that the babe has thy doggedness," she replied.

Ash's heart took a flying leap into his esophagus, and he grabbed Sheila by her shoulder. "You're sure?"

She nodded. "We must go to a healer to assure ourselves, yet I'm certain…" He crushed her against his chest, and Sheila muffled her laughter against his neck.

She was the one who heard the first squeak and gently pushed him away. Alerted, he followed her eyes, to something small and determined staggering its way toward them. "A mouse!" one shopper screamed, starting a stampede for the exits. But Ash knew that gait well, and already had his gun withdrawn from the holster on his right thigh.

 _Yeah, I've taken a few beatings. Trailed a little blood across the years. Lost a limb, some brain cells, and a few good friends. But if I had to, would I do it all over again?_

He looked over to Sheila, and she already had taken out her own pistol and had it cocked and trained on his rogue hand. He lifted his chin in acknowledgement as they both took aim and fired.

 _Hell yeah, I would._

THE END


End file.
